Owen Millers Wiki
Welcome to the Owen Millers Wiki In this wiki, you will learn everything you could ever need to know about Owen Millers. You'll see some of the greatest short stories in the history of ever, as well as some of the greatest poems of the century with signature titles like "late", a classic poem about a young man who is waiting at the wellness center for his friend. Owen "Milla Killa" Millers Owen is pretty much one of the coolest persons ever. Read this, it's quite dope. Setting Description Very It was a dark yet sunny day in the streets of Venice. People crowded around the merchants to buy loads of stuff they didn’t really need in order to receive some sort of selfish happiness that comes whenever buying things happens. A peculiar happiness unlike anything anybody can really describe. The merchants usually wear jet black clothes with a different colored bandana around them to signify that they were a merchant at one of their wooden kiosks, but Morgan was different. Morgan wore a green patagonia sweatshirt and blue levi jeans. The aroma of polo cologne from his sweatshirt flooded the entire market like a mouse makes people leave in fear when it’s inside a house. His line was expectedly empty, as nobody wants to get too close to such a pungent smell like this. Adjacent to Morgan resides Brynjolf, selling armor that looks like something out of a medieval era, he somehow gets people to buy his useless stuff. Well, useless to the average person. His kiosk consisted of a dark wood and a banner that is again made out of wood with little chalk writings consisting of advertisements that say things like, “25% off” and “buy now, pay later”. The armor on the desk of the scream out at the customer not to buy them, but Brynjolf is a charismatic one, his charm is like a like a bartender’s at a 5 star hotel. Beyond the merchants in the kiosks in the center of Venice lie hotels, newspaper stands, a college. Birmingham college is as big as the empire state building and shouts out at you to visit this school, but with a 5% acceptance rate, nobody expects to go there. The entryway of the main hall of the school has lighting that looks like a cavern with candles. Once one climbs the twenty steps to get to the front entrance, they’ll open a door that leads them right to the chemistry section of the college. The classroom is as boring as any high school chemistry classroom, but St. Birmingham University gets its prestige from the lab, right beside the chemistry room. Inside, chemists are finding out new ways to fight against disease with bismuth, and the aspiring chemists beside them trying to learn and make it to the real world. Across from the college is a chapel of religion; The garden surrounding the chapel’s front entrance is filled with daisies and statues commemorating the moment Jesus died, and right by the front door stands a pastor that greets everybody as they enter the chapel. Much like the college, the chapel is only lit by candle lights, but ironically, the candles lights all come from eight candle stands like the Jewish candelabra. The pastors rabbis, and priests all stand next to each other spitting tales of morale, and life lessons they’ve learned throughout their existence, because in this world, pope Francois III emphasized the need to unify between all races, religions, and anything that could divide interests between two people. Show poem The rigid wheels turning round and round Down the hill I go No matter the weather, no matter the sound rhyme Even in the snow rhyme You can tell me to stop You could tell me to leave But if you’re a cop My board’s a noble steed We’ve been through it all Good times and bad You’re just like a doll Make me feel glad Grinding through the rails And pushing through the road On my way to the skatepark Where some tricks I will show Call up the friends Tell them it’s time To learn some new tricks And maybe a new grind The paint is so glossy Like a bottle of wine Show off to the homies About the board that’s now mine It shines like a diamond Reflects like a mirror -- similes Makes me feel wisened And see things clearer Toy Machine is the brand With a monster in the middle One eyed with orange skin And he is not little The skateboard is covered in blue paint While the monster is red Scratching it against the rail till the paint falls off Now the monster looks dead Issue Poem Late Waiting, waiting, waiting. Bored as a two by four, I dribble a basketball to make it less mundane, Because we were supposed to meet an hour ago. Nevertheless, Here I stand, Once again, Waiting for my friend. Not knowing when he’ll come, Or even if he’ll come, But I told him to come at six, And now it’s eight. Calling his telephone. No answer. Call once again. No answer. Dribble, dribble, dribble. Now that my phone’s ringing From the person that’s supposed to be here I’ll let it ring, And ring, And ring. Until I finally give in and answer the phone. It was him of course. Telling me he probably won’t come Because he accidentally took a nap, “My bad.” Yeah, no kidding. I’ve been waiting here for hours, Waiting for my friend, Like a little boy Waiting for his mom to come out of the DOT. Little did I know back then that it was all in vain. Maybe you could’ve called earlier? Maybe you could’ve not taken a nap? But most of all, Maybe you could not be late Because the next time you call me, To play basketball with me, Invited to your grad party, You want to go ski, Help you pay a fee, Or even help you get into the university, Maybe you will see That I always return the favor Owen's proudest work, short story A Midsummer’s Nightmare It was a wooden shack with cobwebs on the window, but you couldn’t see anything out of the window because it was too bright on the outside. A woman wearing a red tight outfit sat on the shelf right beside the locked door waiting for me to wake up. I was confused, and I didn’t know what was going on, and she told me she knows what I did the previous day. I, being as confused as I was, not knowing where I was because she had an IV planted in my arm and I was still a little woozy from the euphoric, yet relaxing feeling of an opioid, asked her what she was talking about. That’s when she whispered to me “murder.” I turned around and noticed three different people with an execution mask around their heads begging for me to let them free. It was obvious what she wanted me to do, execute one of the persons behind me. “Will you let me free?” I asked. She nodded. I didn’t know whether or not to be glad that I wasn’t one of the victims or be horrified that I had to kill someone. The thing is, I actually had murdered somebody before, but it was a dying orphan’s wish so I don’t really count it. The orphan had wanted me to murder his former matron at the orphanage because she was apparently both mentally and physically abusing the kids. After a few hours of temptation, I eventually agreed to his request and shot a bow and arrow right between the eyes of Gerald, the matron of the orphanage. Anyway, back to the matter at hand, there were three people to the right of me all with executioners masks on, so I assumed that the person she wanted me to murder was one of those three people, or maybe it was any of those three people, but I guess now it doesn’t really matter. I had gone up to all three of the people to ask them who they are, and why anybody would ever want them murdered. Naturally, they all made their case on why I shouldn’t kill them, so I listened. The first person’s name was Noel. He was a Frenchman who was in the army during World War 3 and said he had to do everything he could do in his power to stay alive when he went to the French concentration camps. He told me many stories about all the things he did in the army, but one in particular stood out. It was the way he escaped the French concentration camp. He told me that he made a bat out of a large piece of driftwood he found on the island, and made his way past one of the guards by knocking him upside the head with the piece of driftwood. After that, he said he wasn’t done with that guard, and continued to beat him with the piece of driftwood until his face looked like something of “pepperoni pizza.” According to him, that’s the reason somebody would want him killed. After him, I talked to an older lady, probably in her 50’s or 60’s named Gretchen. After asking her why anyone would want her dead, she immediately ordered me to take off her executioner's mask and let her free, while at the same time throwing a temper tantrum about the whole situation she’s in. It became obvious why somebody would want her dead, as I was beginning to want her dead after only a couple minutes of talking to her. The last person I talked to told me his name is Paco, and he’s from Mexico City. Growing up he never had a father, and had to beg for all of his money in order to just get money for food, shelter, and water. From what I heard, it seemed like he didn’t enjoy anything out of his youth. By the age of seventeen, he said, that he had succumbed to the drug deal and had to do everything he could in his power in order to get through life. He told me “even though I sell rocks, it feels good putting money in your mailbox” was the line he lived by, as that was the only cathartic thing in his life at that point. When I asked him why somebody would want him dead he was reluctant to tell me, but after interrogating for several minutes he finally said that when he was 18, a drug deal went bad and he had to stab the person 12 times in order to escape. Now it was just a matter of who. Who did I think deserved it more, who would take it the best, and who deserved to live the most. On one hand, we have the person who served in the French military, but then brutally murdered one of the guards, but in all honesty, wouldn’t I have done the same? We also had the drug dealer who had to kill somebody when the drug deal didn’t go as planned. Sounded a little scummy to me, but I will never know what it’s like to live in Mexico City only relying on what I can do to keep myself alive. And then, of course, we have the old lady, who just simply isn’t a likeable person. I contemplated it over and over again. Who I was going to kill, and how I was going to kill them. Well, obviously with a gun, but where in the head do I shoot? Then I realized, what is a reason somebody would want me dead? Why am I in this shack, and better yet why do I have the power to do the killing, rather than the one getting killed? I knew it must have something to do with the orphanage, but the person running it was an old hag with nothing better to do other than to torment nine different orphans all sleeping in the same house. She deserved it. Maybe that’s what all of the other people thought about the people they killed also. The Frenchman murdered because he had to in order to escape, and brutalized him for revenge. The Mexican only killed because he was taught out in the streets to do whatever it takes to survive. And lastly the old lady, who I couldn’t really justify. I tried to connect all of these events into a sort of what goes around comes around story line and I realized that all of these people are here because they killed someone, even the person atop of the shelf telling me to murder one of the persons on the ground begging for their lives. That’s when I grabbed the given to me by the person on the shelf pointed at her and shot the bullet. Blood spilled out of her temple like a puddle of rain in the corner of a street; it really was a bloodbath, as her body lay on the ground with her eyes wide open and a hole entering the left side of her brain exiting the other. I made sure everybody else was okay and took off their execution masks. We all gave each other a big group hug, and even the old lady was starting to tear up, thanking me for sparing their lives, and coming up with the right solution. I grabbed the key out of the person on the shelf who had a bullet hole in her head and we proceeded to exit out of the shack where we found ourselves in the middle of the woods. Panicking we ran. And we ran far until we finally found our way to a street where we hitchhiked on a semi and made our way to town. We parted ways after that. I would never see them again because we agreed to never speak of this moment in our lives to anyone ever, and I hope in years to come somebody will come across this journal and spread my story around the world. Sneak Peek to Owen's new novel Chapter one: Meeting of Destiny It's a dark yet sunny day in the streets of Venice. The sound of gondoliers singing to couples fills the land as tourists watch the gondolas flow down the rivers. While romantic, a peculiar madness fills the atmosphere; a strange sense of exposure as if somebody is always watching another person. The streets are made of old red bricks, and in the middle of the kiosk center stands a white well made of white painted bricks with a gazebo-type roof made of black shingles. The shine of the light in the sky glares down at the middle of Venice where merchants crowd around the kiosk center trying to sell their “new” products, “Come get this brand new technology everyone!” exclaimed Archi, “a brand new potion which allows you to feel young again!” Archi’s voice is drowned out by all of the other merchants trying to sell their product, as his voice crackles like a middle school student going through puberty. His face, covered in acne scars with a unibrow to top it all off, and a little green hat like something you’d see out of one of the seven dwarves all make its combination to form the 6’5” personality, Archi. Across from his kiosk resides Guiseppe. “Come one, come all!” Yells Guiseppe, “I have just created another new potion that rids you of all your inhibitions and worries!” People from all over the kiosk center flock to Guiseppe’s stand to see what all the buzz is about as Archi stands by his concession, muffled by the footsteps of citizens going to Guiseppe’s kiosk. Behind Guiseppe’s kiosk lay the same products with different labels -- sugar water that claims to have different effects. Guiseppe has brown eyes with hair flowing down to his shoulders like an ocean wave. While only standing 5’6”, Guiseppe makes up for his height with outstanding charisma. That’s when Guiseppe noticed somebody approaching his kiosk. A stranger with a nice Armani suit, and black shoes to match. He wore a fedora, and had brown eyes, with nicely shaved eyebrows, like someone who had just left the salon. On the stranger’s wrist he wore a diamond encrusted rolex watch, with a diamond ring on his middle finger to match, with the engravement, “dessert.” The stranger proceeded to the kiosk with his middle and index finger atop of his chin, looking at all of the products at Guiseppe’s kiosk. So, Guiseppe walked toward him “You’ve never done an honest day’s work for all of that money, have you sir?” Said Guiseppe as he proposed a handshake. The stranger gave him a confused look, “What did you just say?” Said the stranger as he put out his hand. “I’m saying you’ve got a lot of cash, but you didn’t earn a single coin of it with integrity, now have you?” “How could you even think that?” The stranger pulled back his hand. “It’s all about sizing people up. I can tell by the way you walk, the clothes you wear, the watch on your wrist; it’s a giveaway.” “Even if that is true, my wealth is none of your business.” the stranger said defensively “That’s where you’re wrong, wealth is everyone’s business, maybe you’d like to get your hands dirty.” Said Guiseppe. “Excuse me?” “I said, maybe you’d want to earn a little bit more money than you already have right now.” Guiseppe gave a stern look, grinning with sinful intentions. “What did you have in mind?” Asked the stranger unwillingly. “You see that guy across the well? His name’s Archi, and he’s been ripping off my group of people for years, and I think it’s time he paid for his acti--” “I’m not murdering anybody” interrupted the stranger. “Jesus, I haven’t even said what I want you to do, and you’re already talking about murder? No, I want you to put this necklace inside of his strongbox, and then I’ll take care of the rest.” “Sounds easy enough… how much are you going to pay me?” “We’ll worry about that when you have the job finished, here’s his key.” “How did you get this?” Asked the stranger “I know a guy, now get the job done” “You haven’t told me where his strongbox is yet” “Oh right, it’s in his house, 1342 Crepsuculous Avenue. It’s not very big so the strongbox shouldn’t be hard to find.” “One more question.” “What’s that?” “Why are you so intent on sabotaging Archi? He looks pretty innocent” “No, no, no. Archi is the opposite of innocent. He’s been stealing from my faction for the past five years, and he needs to face the consequences,” said Guiseppe, “You want to know why he works in the kiosk center, and not Fellas Inc. like he used to?” The stranger gave him a blank stare while nodding his head, “It’s because he embezzled £60,000 from them, and manipulated everyone to keep quiet until finally his other colleagues caught on” “Well then why do you work at a kiosk?” asked the Stranger. “I have a feeling you’ll find out later” said Guiseppe, “now let’s make Archi pay” Guiseppe handed the stranger the necklace and both of them parted ways as Guiseppe continued to sell his merchandise, while the stranger headed to Archi’s house. -- Archi’s house is a duplex adjacent to the chemistry lab in Saint Birmingham University. The yellow duplex doesn’t look like it has a top floor, and windows show the living rooms of both houses where the stranger saw the terrible living conditions of Archi’s house. Clothes, paper, rotting pizza, and sour milk among other things lie on the ground as the stranger peeps through the window to make sure nobody is inside the home. As he approaches the metal front door with a rusted door knob he notices a car driving by. In an effort to not look suspicious, he quickly unlocks the door, and creeps inside. Marching his way through the papers encompassing the ground, the stranger made his way through the living room, and into his bedroom where he saw Archi’s collection of Playboy magazines underneath his twin sized, spring bed. Beside the bed, stands a four legged wooden desk with tissues, and a strongbox on top of it. The stranger opened the strongbox, and placed the necklace inside, and made his way to the front door. He walks towards the door frame that separates Archi’s living room from his bedroom, but just as he’s about to set one foot into the living room the Stranger hears a creek coming from the front door. The Stranger, with blood rushing through his veins, and his heart racing panics and dives under the bed while the papers beneath him crumple together exuding a deafening noise. The front door opened and in came Archi through the living room and into his bedroom where he jumps on the bed pressing the springs against the Stranger’s head. The Stranger, under the bed with his face pressed on the carpet floor breathing in nothing but dust, gasps for air as silently as he can. Suddenly, the springs from the bed press down even further, and the Stranger loses consciousness. The Stranger wakes up an hour later with a mouthful of dust, and the smell of rotten cheese intruding his nose. He notices the sound of snoring coming from just above him and slithers out of the underside of the bed in order to not make any noise. After that, he tiptoes between all of the paper, and makes his way toward the front door where he finally makes his way out of the house, and to his hotel. -- When the Stranger wakes up from his night’s rest, he immediately put on his jacket and made his way outside in order to find Guiseppe at the kiosk center. Cold raindrops fell from the sky while the Stranger walked from his hotel to the kiosk center where he met with Guiseppe. “The deed is done.” Yelled the Stranger, trying to speak over the rain. “Well then, it looks like I chose the right person for the job,” said Guiseppe “Here’s what you wanted” Guiseppe handed the Stranger ten one hundred dollar bills, and the Stranger slipped them in his pocket. “With how things have been going for my people lately, it’s such a relief that you got the job done without having a run-in with the police.” “What’s been going on with ‘your people’?” asked the Stranger “Well, since you asked, our organization has been having a run of… let’s just say bad luck, but so it goes. Anyway, the important part is you got the job done, and you didn’t get caught.” “I suppose so” said the Stranger. “Best of all, you could earn even more money… If you can handle it.” “I can handle anything you throw at me.” said the Stranger confidently “Let’s put that to the test then,” said Guiseppe, “The people I represent live in the saloon beneath Venice we call ‘The Wilin Willow.’ Make it there alive, and we’ll see if you really have what it takes to join us.” “How do I get there?” asked the Stranger “Do you know how to get to the docks?” “Yeah” “Go to the Willow Docks, and find the door that has an etching of a diamond with a circle inside of it,” said Guiseppe “That will lead you to a vacated building, from there move the carpet, open the trap door, and make your way to the saloon.” “Piece of cake” said the Stranger “We’ll see about that,” replied Guiseppe, “By the way, I don’t believe I ever learned your name.” “My name is Ludwig, now if you’ll excuse me I have a saloon to go to.” Ludwig grabbed Guiseppe’s umbrella, turned around, and walked away. So what now? With an end to Owen's creative writing career, Owen what is pretty confused with what he's going to do with his life. There will be no more obnoxious mating calls in class with Joe Briddle, and no more of Mr. Lindsey's favorite student. Wow what a sad end, can we get 15,000 likes to pay respects? Comment F if you cry every time. Anyway, Owen will be attending the University of Iowa in the fall semester of 2018 to major in chemistry, and hopefully go to graduate school to become a pharmacist. In other words, catch me at Hartig, GG. Latest activity Photos and videos are a great way to add visuals to your wiki. Add one below! Category:Browse